Some events unfold in mysterious ways, like wishes being granted or being led forward by an invisible thread, only to collide abruptly with a transparent web before fate pounces, hurling one into unknown circumstances.
During an English class, Miao Jing was called out by her homeroom teacher. A family emergency had been reported over the phone. Her heart sank as she took the call, recognizing Wei Mingzhen’s voice—tearful yet oddly buoyant—informing her that Chen Libin was in the ICU and urging her to come to the hospital.
Rushing to the hospital, Miao Jing found Wei Mingzhen physically unharmed but emotionally drained, her face streaked with tears. Though her slightly wrinkled eyes burned with intensity, they seemed to suppress something unspoken. Chen Libin lay in the hospital bed, connected to a ventilator, tubes snaking across his body.
The incident was bizarrely coincidental—or perhaps just plain misfortune, as Chen Libin had always been plagued by bad luck. That evening, while Wei Mingzhen was still out, he finished off a half-empty bottle of liquor at home. Slipping on a pair of shoes, he headed to the supermarket to replenish it. On his way back, climbing the stairs without paying attention, he lost his balance, tumbled backward, and struck his head. Found unconscious by a neighbor, he was rushed to the hospital with a spinal cord injury, respiratory failure, and cerebral hemorrhage—immediately admitted to the ICU.
The Chen family had few close relatives. Chen Libin had a brother living out of town, but they had long lost touch. For now, only Wei Mingzhen, old neighbors, colleagues, supervisors, and a handful of distant relatives showed concern for his condition.
And of course, there was Chen Yi.
Chen Yi strode into the hospital, his tall frame blocking the light from the far end of the corridor as he approached. Miao Jing, seated outside the ICU, noticed he seemed even taller now. His buzz cut had grown out slightly, dyed a smoky gray. A printed shirt hung loosely over his black T-shirt, and a jangling silver necklace rested against his neck—a full embrace of youthful hip-hop style. Chewing gum, his eyes narrowed irritably, perhaps from lack of sleep, and the heavy scent of tobacco trailed him with each step.
Miao Jing didn’t recognize him. It was as if… he had become a completely different person.
Noticing her fixed stare, Chen Yi leaned forward slightly, his dark, indifferent gaze scanning her face. Miao Jing averted her eyes, focusing instead on the ICU doors.
“What’s wrong?” he asked lazily.
Wei Mingzhen rushed over in tears, explaining the situation to Chen Yi and urging him to see Chen Libin. It was the third day, and he still hadn’t regained consciousness.
Chen Yi stepped inside. The once tall and refined man now lay pale and sunken-eyed, utterly helpless on the bed. He stood expressionless for several minutes before returning to slump heavily into a chair, his face grim as he continued chewing gum in silence.
This was his father—Wei Mingzhen, Miao Jing, and others were secondary. Someone had to keep vigil outside the ICU daily, and naturally, that responsibility fell to Chen Yi. As for the subsequent treatment, whether Chen Libin would wake up, and the ICU costs of three thousand per day—these were all problems Chen Yi had to confront.
Wei Mingzhen sobbed as she brought up these concerns. Chen Yi’s deep, penetrating gaze swept over her face before he let out a cold sneer. “So now you think highly of me?”
He was still a minor, just sixteen years old.
“We’re family. We must find a way to get through this together,” Wei Mingzhen insisted, pushing Miao Jing forward. “He’s the head of the household. We must pray and do everything possible to help him wake up.”Chen Yi kept vigil in the ICU, while Miao Jing, who had final exams in two days, joined him after finishing her tests. They sat on opposite ends of a long bench—Chen Yi pulled out a new phone from his pocket to play games, while Miao Jing buried herself in an English vocabulary book. The two maintained clear boundaries, neither disturbing the other.
Wei Mingzhen handled medical insurance procedures, took leave from work, and ran various errands. She also used Chen Libin’s bank card and ID to withdraw money for payments.
Chen Libin stayed in the ICU for seven days with no signs of recovery. The family signed a form to discontinue treatment, with both Wei Mingzhen and Chen Yi giving their consent. He was then transferred to a general ward.
Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
Chapter 9: The Night Miao Jing Didn’t Return Home
Tu Li had a favorable impression of Miao Jing and tried to get closer to her. Regardless of how well the siblings got along, the fact that Miao Jing lived in Chen Yi’s home suggested he treated her differently.
During the peak of her relationship with Chen Yi, Tu Li had wanted to move in with him, but he flatly refused, complaining that women brought too much trouble and disrupted his peace. She playfully pinched his arm and accused him of being a hit-and-run type. Chen Yi admitted it without hesitation, then grabbed her, twisted her around, and pinned her down with his muscular arms before tossing her roughly onto the bed. At times like that, she found herself speechless, captivated by his lazy yet recklessly ruthless demeanor.
Eventually, Tu Li stopped wanting to visit. The neighborhood was full of long-time residents who openly gossiped and made pointed remarks whenever they saw the two together. Harsh words often reached Tu Li’s ears, leaving her fuming. She asked Chen Yi to intervene, but he dismissed it indifferently, saying people could talk all they wanted—it didn’t bother him.
Now that Miao Jing was back—a accomplished and seemingly aloof, serious-minded sister—Tu Li thought that winning her over to her side could make future endeavors much smoother.
Although Miao Jing wasn’t difficult to get along with, her reserved nature meant she avoided social gatherings and outings. Whenever Tu Li invited her to go shopping, hang out, visit a spa, or join meals and gym sessions, Miao Jing usually declined politely, saying she was busy. As a new employee, she had training sessions and technical materials to study, work responsibilities to gradually take on, and interactions with colleagues and supervisors to navigate. Still, Miao Jing was genuinely helpful: when Tu Li’s gym planned to open a dance studio, Miao Jing—despite being an engineering major—helped her create a promotional resume, edit videos, and handle Photoshop work.
Chen Yi watched coldly as Tu Li tried to cozy up to Miao Jing, his brow furrowed with a mix of displeasure and restrained tolerance. Hearing Miao Jing turn down Tu Li’s invitations over the phone, he rubbed his chin expressionlessly and said lazily, “Stop bothering her so much.”
“It’s just a meal. You didn’t stop me before I called,” Tu Li pouted, her red lips pursed. “She said she’s working overtime at the company today and will be back later. She asked me to let you know.”
“Hmm.”
After the new employee training ended, Miao Jing entered a phase of daily overtime. The factory was remote and isolated, so she took taxis home after work. Sometimes, when it got too late—around eleven or midnight—taxi drivers were reluctant to pick up fares from that area, leaving her no choice but to ask Chen Yi to pick her up.
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